Hey Mom, you probably won't get to read this. But I just wanna say sorry for all the wrong things that I've done. I know chances of me getting the Son-of-the-Year award are almost zilch, but just to let you know.. I do love you from the bottom of my heart.
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So the week's passed, and things are slowly falling into place. Look back, and the smoke and debris tell a story. Reality beckons, and despite all the despairing struggles, it's time to place everything back into His hands. Maybe brokenness is an ingredient; maybe what they say is true. A reason, buried beneath the soil. Take it, take them all. Everything lifted up into the highest heavens, faith is a big word. Five letters, of constant scribbles in textbooks, worksheets, and what have they, keep the flicker of flame alight. May is underway, and a daunting seven more await. As the weary body staggers on, scars from past battles reflect the severity of your remaining breath, barely visible in the haunting cold. Lust for the final reckoning builds up raw strength; you refuse to believe that you couldn't pull through.
Afterall, you've been through sixteen years.
What's another two?
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Gone are the days when heavy pounding guitar rifts rumble the neighborhood, and screaming artists hell-bent on broken throats dominate the billboard. Maybe after spending years trying to grind my heart into a cold, unfeeling, blood-pumping tool, the unyielding, stubborn thing has voiced its opinion.
"Not a grotesque end with withering petals, but a kiss of death in love's embrace."
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But if I have to describe, bliss is too shallow a word. (:
posted by cigarettelove @ 9:47 AM
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